Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs, well, every Thursday afternoon during the NFL season. Drew's new book, "Men With Balls," released October 27th and featuring 100% new material, is available for pre-order here. You can email Drew here. Read him during the week at KSK. No time to waste with some thoughtful bullshit upfront essay this week. We've got shit to get to. Let's dive right in.The Games All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Five Throwgasms Redskins at Cowboys: My colleague KOGOD has pointed out the bizarre circumstance of Skins GM Vinny Cerrato hosting his own radio show every day on WTEM, a station owned by Dan Snyder. Cerrato, who serves as Snyder's personal buttplug, does little more on the show than spin all negative press regarding the team and answer softball questions from co-host/team fluffer George Michael (who looks like a talking skull at this point). It's particularly annoying since Cerrato is supposed to be, you know, RUNNING THE FUCKING TEAM. With the recent purchase of WTEM, Snyder now owns almost every sports talk radio station in town. And it would surprise no one if he eventually owned them all, and then gradually eased out anyone critical of him in the process. You're hard pressed now to find, in any town, a sports talk radio station that is not owned by a team or owned by ESPN, who is in bed with every team. And that means more and more sports radio programming and game broadcasts in your town will be little more than some piece of shit informercial. This is a cartel of sports talk radio, I tell you. It's like Big Oil. It's Big Retard. And I won't stand for it. Fuck you in the pants, Dan Snyder. All the polish in the world can't hide the fact that Carlos Rogers will get a torched like a fucking baked Alaska come Sunday.
Three Throwgasms Falcons at Panthers: I watched the Panthers play the Vikings last week. It was one of those games where a flag was thrown every seven seconds. At one point, the Vikings had committed two consecutive holding penalties and had 3rd and forever, then the Panthers committed illegal contact and handed the first down back to them. Games like that make me want to chew my own hand off. Eagles at Bears Vikings at Titans
Two Throwgasms Broncos at Chiefs: Over the past few years, Mike Shanahan has pioneered all sorts of delightful ways to fuck over fantasy fans. He practically invented the running back by committee approach, and for that alone he deserves to locked in a tanning bed until he burns to death. But this year he's taken his treachery to new, galling heights. Not only is he operating a running back by committee with Selvin Young and Andre Hall, but he is now employing Michael Pittman as a TD vulture for both of them. Usually, a coach will fuck you by going RBBC, or he'll fuck you deploying a vulture to rob the main carrier of a well-deserved TD (Tiki Barber/Brandon Jacobs). But to combine the RBBC and vulture roles into one three-man shitheap is virtually unprecedented. You are a horrible, horrible man, Mike Shanahan. You have no morals, and it wouldn't surprise me if you dabbled in canine sacrifice. Browns at Bengals: Brady Quinn's all lubed up, boys! Cardinals at Jets: From Peter King this week:
Brett Favre to ESPN's Ed Werder, last Thursday, on the Pack's strong two-game start: "When they have 16 good ones, then call me.''What. A. Douche. Enjoy your 6-10 tailspin, you fucking cowgirl. Chargers at Raiders: We're three weeks into the season, and as of right now, the highest scoring player in all of fantasy football is fucking Marmalard. Not only that, Marmalard is also the highest rated passer in the league, and leads the league in TD passes. And if you don't think he'll angrily shout out his stats to Oakland fans in the stands as he runs out of the tunnel, you don't know Marmalard the way I do. Texans at Jaguars 49ers at Saints
One Throwgasm Bills at Rams: The Rams benched Marc Bulger this week. That should fix everything! Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall "JC Auto," by Sugar. I can't find video or audio to link up for "JC Auto" on YouTube or anywhere else. All I can tell you is it's available for 99 cents over at iTunes (and probably for less if you buy the entire six-song Beaster EP), and that's quite a small price to pay for the ass-stompingest rock song ever recorded. Next to "JC Auto," other rock songs sound like the fucking Carpenters. You wanna hear a man who is in some real fucking PAIN? You want to hear what happens when one of the greatest guitarists of all time decides to use his instrument to destroy everything in his fucking path? Yeah, then buy this song. The bridge before the chorus will peel the goddamn skin off your body. Then there's the chorus itself, which goes like this: HERE'S YOUR JESUS CHRIST! I'M YOUR JESUS CHRIST! I KNOW! I KNOW! I KNOW! That text doesn't quite do it justice. To get the full effect, you really need to do an assload of speed, drink for three days straight, and then scream it out until your throat bleeds. Luckily, Bob Mould has already done all that for you. Because Bob rules. I'm an older, chubbier fellow these days. Because of my job, and my family, and writing dick jokes as a side gig, there's very little time to sit down with a drink, put on some music, and just fucking LISTEN to it. Listening in the car is about as close as I get to paying full attention. Musicians often complain now about how their art form has been reduced to sonic wallpaper, and that's true to an extent. Because we're free to do other shit while we listen to music, we often take advantage of that fact. But just because we can do that doesn't mean we always should. Sometimes, you gotta sit back and let a song like "JC Auto" consume you fully. Because Bob isn't fucking around when he's playing this song, so you shouldn't be fucking around when you're listening to it. Two more notes on Sugar. I was talking with someone who graduated from Macalester College in Minnesota, where Bob Mould went college. Apparently, Mould tried to kill himself when he was there by hanging himself, but the rope broke. That broken rope still hangs in its original spot on campus, and many students gather around it during the year to have a drink and pay tribute to Bob. Let that be a lesson to you kids about suicide. You got plenty of reasons to live, people. Not only could you end up being one of the baddest motherfuckers to ever strap on a guitar, your failed suicide could also inspire one of the coolest campus traditions ever. Last thing. In the liner notes to B-side compilation "Besides," Greg Kot describes the band better than I ever could: First thing you notice about Sugar in concert is the look, and I don't mean their fashion sense. It's a look that says, "Your wake call has arrived." Sugar do not take requests. Sugar do not banter with their audience. Sugar are not cute. Bob Mould, Dave Barbe, and Malcolm Travis are a glowering juggernaut, and for the next 90 minutes or so, they will be the best rock band in the world… Melodies are swallowed up in noise, tunefulness extracted from feedback, beauty torn from violence. The music seems to consume the band as they perform it, each precious note extracted a toll until all that is left is glassy-eyed exhaustion. Yup, THAT is what I fucking want out of a rock band. Embarassing Album I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up "Lap Of Luxury" by Cheap Trick. Few people remember (or have blocked out from trauma) that Cheap Trick had a very brief renaissance as a hair band back in the late 80's. This glam period for the band featured videos (for "The Flame" and a really horrible version of "Don't Be Cruel") that showcased guitarist Rick Nielsen's affinity for wearing beanies and playing extremely gay-looking guitars. I got this tape for free at a kid's Bar Mitzvah. It was one of those blowout Bar Mitzvahs where they hired a DJ from a local radio station ("Wow, it's Smoky Joe Dawson! It's like I'm listening to him on the radio IN PERSON!"). The DJ handed out several promo tapes for this album and Joan Jett's "Up Your Alley". Each of the tapes had a stamp on it saying it was a promo copy, and not to be copied under threat of jail time. This made me feel very cool. Until I listened to the tape. I blame the wine and the generous supply of raisin challah. Kids never danced at these Bar Mitzvahs. Instead, kids would congregate in little social circles on the dance floor, and spend most of the party talking about the people in the other circles surrounding them. Slow dancing only occurred when they played "Sweet Child O' Mine", only the song sped up four minutes in, and then your slow dance would awkwardly end mid-song. I remember I used to say "Thanks" to girls at the end of every dance. Hey, thanks for four minutes of complete and utter discomfort! I'm gonna go jerk off now! God, life is painful. Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death Randy Moss. Oh, look! It's the special edition Malcontent Randy Moss! Now with 50% more sulking! And EXTRA indifference to weak side plays! Ah yes, I know this Moss model quite well. Can't imagine it happening to a nicer group of fans. Fucking bandwagon-jumping, stadium-clearing fuckfaces. THIS is the Moss you've always deserved. I hope he runs over a Walpole meter maid. MWAHAHAHAHA. Five Potential Key Injuries -Ben Roethlisberger (hand) -Ben Roethlisberger (shoulder) -Ben Roethlisberger (brain puddling) -Ben Roethlisberger (cognitive leprosy) -Ben Roethlisberger (Monosyllablitis) Suicide Pick Of The Week Last week's suicide pick of Buffalo was correct, which makes me 2-1 for the year. Off the board now are the Giants, Buffalo, and Detroit. We again choose both a team for your suicide pool and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick? San Diego, and lying down in front of an oncoming train. I think you can I think you can I think you can I think you can I think you can… Nazi Shark's Vegas Lock Of The Week Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals like monkeys pick games to see if they can outwit their human counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked National Socialist German Workers' Party member Rolf, who also happens to be a shark, to pick one game a week. Take it away, Nazi shark. "This week, I like the San Francisco getting 8 1/2 points on the road against the Saints. Wanna know why Jews are never satisfied with the first parking spot they find? Because they're assholes, that's why." 2008 Record: 0-1 Fire This Asshole! Is there anything more exciting than a coach losing his job (apart from Matt Millen losing his? WOOHOO)? All year long, we'll keep track of which coaches will almost certainly get fired at year's end or sooner. This week, Brad Childress gets a temporary reprieve from the list, and we add Gary Kubiak to the chopping block: Lane Kiffin Scott Linehan Marvin Lewis Rod Marinelli Mike Nolan Herm Edwards Romeo Crennel Gary Kubiak Although Kubiak can always blame the hurricane. Hurricanes are useful like that. Gametime Snack Of The Week Trader Joe's Cocoa Almonds! Dusted with cocoa powder? I think not! I know Persian brown heroin when I taste it. Oh, Mr. Brownstone, you make such a delicious confection! If you ever go to Trader Joe's, you're already well aware that they have shelves upon shelves stacked with plastic tubs of cocoa almonds, chocolate covered orange peels, chocolate toffee bark, and those long chocolate chip cookies that you can dunk in your coffee mug and FUCKING AY JOE, STOP TEMPTING ME WITH YOUR DAZZLING ARRAY OF TASTE TREATS. I got another problem with Trader Joe's, and that is the clerks. They're coached to always fucking talk to you. "Have you tried these cocoa almonds? They're really good!" No shit, asshole. That's why I'm buying them. I plan on swallowing the tub whole when I get home. Quit being so goddamn pleasant and let me stoically ignore you like a normal human being. And what's with the fucking Hawaiian shirts? I'm grocery shopping. It's not a fucking party. It's an errand. You can't fool me into enjoying it, you pricks. Gametime Beer Of The Week Home brewed beer! My brother in law home brews his own shit, and sometimes he invites me over to help make it. It's pretty time-consuming. You gotta brew barley or oats it for an hour at one temperature, then add some malt and keep it at another temperature for like another hour. Then you gotta add the hops (he uses plug hops, which smell like moss dropped in a glass with Alka Seltzer. Weirdest smelling shit ever) and cook it some more. Then you have to strain it, then add the yeast, then let it sit for a few weeks, and then bottle it. Now, I enjoy doing this. It's fun. Plus the end product is delicious (and high in alcohol content!). But I gotta ask: who THE FUCK figured out how to do this? My brother-in-law has to do complex math and shit just to make sure he's got the recipe down right. Who the fuck figured out to stew a bunch of fucking oats in a bag, then add sugar a little later, then add dirt a little while later, and then keep it at one exact fucking temperature? What deranged group of pedophile German monks had the patience to perfect this? This shit is more complicated than derivatives. Look at the equipment, for shit's sake. It looks like shit you'd use to make bathtub meth. I tried making moonshine in prep school once by leaving apple cider on the radiator. Yeah, that didn't work. So I remain in awe of the people who long ago invented beer for the rest of us. But mostly, I remain very grateful to those who mass produce it today. Because if I had to go through all those steps any time I wanted a cold one, I'd shoot myself in the balls. Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans Blue In The Face. Improvisational sketches featuring Lou Reed? I'm there! "I get scared, like, in Sweden. You know, it's kind of empty, they're all drunk. Everything works. If you stop at a stoplight and don't turn your engine off people come over and talk to you about it. You go to the medicine cabinet and open it up and there'll be a little poster saying, ‘In case of suicide, call…' You turn on the TV and there's an ear operation. These things scare me. New York? No." Be sure to skip any and all scenes featuring Roseanne Barr in this movie. Gratuitous Simpsons Quote "I don't know where you pixies came from, but I like your pixie drink!" Halftime Masturbation Kit -For the guys: Heidi Klum. What I like about Heidi's ensemble here is that it is so minimal. In fact, you could say it doesn't exist at all. And I think that's the right look on her. Heidi, good work. You can leave the runway. -For the gals: Actor Paul Bettany. Paul is married to Jennifer Connelly. No fair! She was supposed to marry ME! I had it all planned out! We were going to live in the Italian countryside and feed each other goat cheese crostini! All I had to do was inject her with horse tranquilizers and wrap her in a tarp. And now my plan's been fucking ruined! /shakes fist in the air BETTANY!!!! Your Motivational Pregame Quote For The Weekend "I guess you think you're... you know, like an authority figure, with that stupid fuckin' uniform, huh buddy? King clip-on-tie there, BIG FUCKIN' MAN, huh? You know, these are the limits of your life, man. The rule of your little fuckin' gate here. Here's your four dollars, you pathetic piece of shit." -Carl Showalter Enjoy the games, everyone.